


Black Doves

by eurydice72



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-05 03:16:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5359100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurydice72/pseuds/eurydice72
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world where those with enhanced abilities are forced to hide or run away in order to survive, Morgana Pendragon does what she must, even if she has to be completely on her own.</p><p>Then Merlin shows up with his own agenda...and they both learn that sometimes survival means flying in the face of expectation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black Doves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jungle_ride](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jungle_ride/gifts).



> I was totally spoiled with the wealth of choices I had when I received my assignment. Seriously, I looked at the prompts jungle_ride offered and fell in love with all of them. Picking just one was so hard.
> 
> But I kept coming back to her request for fic based on [this image](http://theheartofcamelot.com/photos/images/2012/09/02/cHM5X.jpg), so I knew this was it. Thank you so much for the prompt, and I hope you enjoy what I came up with!

Bodies packed a tight circle around the pair, no room for jostling, no breath to waste on sounds that could distract either girl at its center. There had to be a hundred people easy, Merlin reasoned, but nobody cared they were such easy targets clustered like this. They were too intent on the battle about to be waged, their thirst for blood a stench rising from their pores.

Though he was toward the back of the circle, Merlin had a perfect view, better than he’d hoped as he’d made the run to the abandoned parking lot. He’d planned for only a glimpse, just enough to prove it was really her. What he got was blinding sun reflected off an infinity of crystalline sand.

She stood at the opposite end of the circle, her hands busy pulling the wild mane of her midnight hair off her neck and into a loose knot on the top of her head. Locked on her opponent, her pale green eyes glittered in anticipation. If she bothered to lift her gaze another foot, she would’ve been staring straight at Merlin.

He’d seen her pictures. Her father had enough to give Merlin the creeps when he’d brought them out. But not one—not the posed debutante, not the carefree woman caught in mid-laugh—could compare to the real thing.

Quite frankly, Morgana Pendragon was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.

His nape prickled with the advent of harnessing power.

She was also one of the most dangerous.

“You can still back out.” Though Morgana didn’t raise her voice as she addressed her opponent, nobody could’ve missed her words.

“You think I’m afraid of a spoiled, rich bitch?” the other girl sneered. She was shorter than Morgana but sturdier, with close-cropped blue and orange hair, and fingernails sharpened to black points. “No phony symp is going to walk around my neighborhood, just because she think she’s hot shit.”

The corner of Morgana’s full lips curled, sending shivers racing southward in Merlin’s flesh. “I’m not a phony.”

“Everyone knows you’re a fucking Pendragon. What, you think we’re stupid, too? We don’t see the feeds?”

In the distance, Merlin heard a flutter, faint but unmistakable. He stiffened, his gaze shooting to the cloudy horizon, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Yet. More importantly, no one in the crowd seemed to have noticed the soft beats. They were writing her off, just like her loud opponent.

Merlin stared at Morgana, at how her eyes glowed with satisfaction, and came to a startling realization he wished he’d discovered before trekking beyond the safety of Camelot.

Uther Pendragon had made the same mistake the crowd now did.

“I thought we were here to fight,” Morgana said. “If I’d wanted inane chatter, I would’ve stayed in the city.”

The other girl snarled. “You know the rules?”

Morgana smiled, sly and chilling. “Rules? But I’m a Pendragon, remember?”

Even though he’d been watching for it, Merlin didn’t see the blade until it was flying through the air. A second immediately followed, pulled from a narrow sheath strapped to her outer thigh. The sheath had been constructed to be virtually invisible, the stitching merged with the broken design on Morgana’s trousers. It begged the question, how long had she been planning her escape beyond Camelot’s borders? Such a garment had to be specifically made, and she wouldn’t have had the clout—or likely the connections—to find a seamstress here.

She found her current target with alarming ease, though. The first blade sunk into the other girl’s shoulder, while the second sliced through the canvas strap of the pack hanging from her hip, leaving a bloody streak where it cut through to the skin beneath.

Her opponent cried out and crumpled to one knee. Wrenching the knife out of her shoulder, she used precious seconds to wipe it clean on her jacket, but Morgana had already called back the second weapon, snatching it neatly from the air. She thrust it upward, and the crowd pressed back, already aware of what was to come.

Most of the birds were still too far away, but the few that had been fast hurtled themselves closer to the bloody blade. Morgana didn’t flinch as they swirled around it, a flurry of ebony feathers and sharp beaks, but the other girl scrambled away, forcing the circle around them to widen.

“You cheated!” the girl shouted, though her voice was more panicked than angry.

“Because I didn’t come to a fight unprepared?” 

She held out her empty hand. A moment later, the other knife tore free from her opponent’s grasp and flew back to Morgana. When she sheathed both of them, neither one of them had any blood on it. _Bad luck for the girl_ , Merlin thought. Morgana’s birds—most of them were ravens, from the look of it, with a couple crows thrown into the lot—would always be able to find her now.

“What do you want?”

The query came from a new voice, a short young man with a shaved head that came forward to help Morgana’s opponent to her feet. He looked like the epitome of the dissenters Uther and his cohorts liked to spread around on the feeds. His clothes had seen better days, his heavy boots wrapped in industrial tape, his shirt and jeans worn and frayed. A serpent tattoo disappeared beneath his collar, but even at this distance, Merlin could see how the ink was fading. 

“To be left alone,” Morgana said. One of the ravens had landed at her feet, its fathomless eyes watching the others intently. “That top floor is mine.”

“The queen wants her castle,” the girl snapped.

“I’ve earned it,” Morgana replied. “Be thankful I only want the top.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll challenge each and every person who tries to take it away from me, until there isn’t a single one of you left who won’t have to keep his eyes on the sky.”

Murmurs rippled through the horde. She’d made her point.

With her partner holding her elbow, the other girl was the first to leave, limping as she pushed her way through the masses. Morgana stayed where she was as people drifted off, alone or in pairs, but her gaze never stopped flickering around, heedful of anyone or anything that might threaten her again.

Merlin had to retreat with the others if he didn’t want to be seen. Turning his back on Morgana might have been the hardest thing he’d done all day. Especially since the tingle of the power she still radiated continued to electrify his skin.

He only went as far as the nearest building, a vacated garage with the bay doors ripped out to expose its gutted interior. The vantage from the side window gave him an excellent view of the lot, so he watched and waited for her to move.

It took twelve minutes. For five of that, she was the sole figure anywhere to be seen. Even the birds she’d called to join the fight and mark her victory left her.

His job was to take her back to Camelot, to the life she’d renounced by running away. The sight of her standing there, so proud, so fearless, had him itching to step out and tell her to flee even farther. Uther Pendragon was not the sort of man to surrender. He would never give up trying to bring his daughter home.

If Merlin didn’t do it as he’d been hired, someone else would.

* * *

Without the rush of adrenaline to warm her veins, Morgana felt every bite of the cooling breeze as she waited for her luck to turn. Someone would come back for seconds. She was sure of it. The taunt of defeating the brash newcomer had to be too alluring for at least one person to resist, but no matter how long her gaze jumped from shadow to shadow, she never saw anybody.

Picking a fight with Gypsy Mazin had been pure strategy. Any fool knew the smart move for someone who didn’t want to be the butt of violence was to present as a genuine threat. In this case, it meant challenging and beating the most powerful person in a six-block radius. Morgana learned the very first night that Gypsy ran the largest ring of dissenters in the area. To survive, she needed to trounce her, a deed that proved easier than she’d anticipated except for one detail.

She’d never tried using her abilities against another person before. Seeing how easily she could draw blood—blood that could then be used as an ongoing weapon—left her head spinning and her stomach roiling.

Maybe her father was right. Maybe the dissenters really were dangerous freaks that should be put down. She certainly felt like a monster, and all she’d done was fight for her right to live among them without constant hassle.

She stayed rooted in the oil-stained lot for as long as she could tolerate before turning on her heel to begin the trek back to her new home. Her legs were like water, but she kept her chin high and her lip curled in case anyone was watching from behind their proverbial curtains. The walk was only four blocks, a deliberate choice on her part so Gypsy could see the rise of the building behind Morgana during the fight, but each step was torturous, her body rebelling against the drain she’d put it through.

When she was a block away, she stumbled.

She righted herself immediately, but her nerves were shot as she fought every instinct to look around like a hunted animal. Almost there, all she had to do was get to the front door and she could cling to every damned handrail as she climbed the six flights of stairs to the studio at the top.

_Six flights. God. I’m never going to make it._

Moments like this, she wondered why she’d done it. She’d had a life in Camelot, albeit not one she was particularly proud of. It was daunting being the daughter of the most powerful man in the city when you represented everything he loathed most in the world. Every day was a test. Would she give herself away? Could she race through the hours until she was safely ensconced in her own rooms where she didn’t have to suppress her innate abilities? It’d been exhausting, but she’d been a pro at it.

If she’d only felt like there was some sort of hope, she never would have fled. She liked not having to worry about money. She could travel to her heart’s content. Men wanted her, women wanted to be her, and she could’ve done almost anything with her future that she chose.

Except live openly as someone with the advanced powers that scared men like Uther Pendragon.

The second time her legs gave out on her, long arms caught her around the waist before she landed on her knees. “I have you,” a man murmured.

Stiffening, Morgana drove her elbow back and hit the solid wall of the man’s chest. “Let me go!” she growled.

“Only if you’ll let me help.” Warm breath fanned across her ear. “The sooner you get inside, the better the odds nobody sees how much that fight took out of you. I can help with that.”

“I don’t need your help.” But he was right about one thing. She needed to get away from prying eyes, or everything she’d achieved today would be for nothing.

His arm loosened but didn’t disappear. “Put your feet down.”

Morgana gritted her teeth. _Don’t do it. Don’t do it._

She did it. He wasn’t letting go, and every second she hung in his arms like a ragdoll was another risk to her fragile reputation.

When she was upright, her wannabe savior shifted to stand at her side, though his arm still steadied her where it curled around the small of her back. Morgana glanced up and nearly stopped breathing at the brilliant blue eyes fixed on her. Pale skin stretched over high cheekbones, his wide brow mostly hidden by the messy fall of dark hair. His lean features matched the rest of his long body, and while they were hidden beneath his dirty jeans and too-big coat, the staunch muscles that kept her balanced were firm and unyielding.

“What do you want?” she asked in the most disdainful tone she could summon.

“To make sure your stand-off was worth it,” came the swift reply.

The fact that she hadn’t noticed someone as remarkable as him among the crowd terrified her. “You were there?”

“You were brilliant.” His small smile lit up his face. “A marvel, actually. She never stood a chance.”

Gypsy’s hubris had been her downfall, but having outside confirmation on her own abilities sent a warm thrill through Morgana’s body. Still, as striking as he was, she couldn’t let him into her sanctuary. She wasn’t strong enough to fend him off if he decided to press his advantage, or worse, if he turned out to be on Gypsy’s side.

“Tell you what.” He jerked his chin toward the front door of the dilapidated building she called home now. “Let’s just get off the street and get some of your strength back, and then you can decide whether or not you can trust me.”

His vocalization of her fears was so spot-on, she wondered if he was a telepath. She couldn’t feel anyone poking around in her head, but considering her limited involvement with others of her kind, she could just be unaware of his doing it. And what else had he said about her strength? How was that possible?

It was worth the risk to find out, but just in case, she reached out to whatever birds were nearby. _I might need help. Please watch and be ready._

A shutter flickered over his eyes, but it disappeared when she nodded. “Off the street,” she agreed. Together, they walked the rest of the way to the door, though in all honesty, his arm did most of the work in keeping her upright.

The building she’d chosen was one of the few in the neighborhood with power, so crossing the threshold wasn’t the shock it could’ve been. A single light bulb hung from the ceiling in the foyer, casting everyone who passed beneath it in a sickly yellow glow. Before this area had fallen from Camelot’s good graces, it had mail privileges as evidenced by the metal boxes that lined an inner wall. Half were devoid of locks and hung open on broken hinges. The rest were utilized by messengers, though Morgana had yet to claim one for her own.

Though the ground floor had several apartments, as far as Morgana could tell nobody occupied them. The stairs were empty now, too. Stopping to catch her breath was safe here. 

And necessary.

Slumping against the wall, it was easier to gaze up at her so-called admirer with the practiced conceit from Camelot. “Do you know who I am?”

The return of his smile was easy, enticing her to smile back. “Morgana Pendragon.” He held his hand out. It was as long and slim as the rest of him. “I’m Merlin.”

His fingers were warm where they wrapped around hers, and she probably held onto him a fraction longer than she should’ve if she wanted to maintain any distance. “Why were you at the fight?”

“Because I heard you were there. A lot of people find it very hard to believe that Morgana Pendragon is one of us, you know.”

 _Us._ So he had powers and wasn’t just a sympathizer. That still didn’t mean she could trust him. 

“They think I’m a spy,” she said.

“Yes,” he agreed. “Can you blame them? Look at who your father is.”

At mention of Uther, her lip curled in disgust. “Even more reason for me to leave Camelot. His ideas about people like me are barbaric.”

“He thinks we’re a threat.”

“He thinks everybody with the potential to achieve more power than he can is a threat,” she shot back. “He doesn’t understand that we’re just like him and his cronies.”

“Well…” Merlin leaned his shoulder against the wall, not quite crowding her space but definitely much closer than he had been. “We’re not exactly like him. Unless he can communicate with your family dog and he’s been hiding it all these years.”

The image of Uther talking to any animal was ludicrous, and she laughed at the picture Merlin presented. “I don’t think he’d be as stubborn about it if he had any inkling what it’s like.”

“Probably not.” His eyes flickered to the doorway, a small line appearing between his brows. “You called them,” he murmured, then focused back on her. “I don’t want to hurt you, Morgana. You don’t have to be afraid of me.”

In that moment, she wasn’t, but she was still shocked he could sense the birds. “How did you know?”

“I can feel your powers. I sensed something outside, but I just thought you were bracing for a defensive attack in case I did anything you didn’t expect.”

That still didn’t explain how he knew the birds now circled outside, waiting for her command. “Is that your skill, then? You’re a sensitive?”

“You ask that like I can only have one.”

“But…” His meaning, as difficult as it was to believe, sank in, leaving her gobsmacked that it was even a possibility. 

“I don’t know what you learned about your abilities before you left Camelot,” Merlin said. “But I sincerely doubt it was very thorough. What information abounds within the city isn’t exactly reliable. With all the laws Uther keeps getting passed against us, everybody is too afraid to talk, let alone share what they know.”

“You say that as if you know what Camelot’s like.”

“I do. I go in and out of the city whenever I choose.”

Morgana swept an assessing eye down his shabby clothing. “People would have you pegged the second you crossed the border.”

“You’d be surprised how easy it is to pass.” A knowing gleamed in his eyes. “Isn’t that what you’ve been doing all of your life?”

He had her there. She didn’t even want to argue with him about the point anymore. Something about Merlin begged her to put her faith in his open honesty—at least, about his abilities. The duplicitous existence they’d both had bonded them enough to merit that.

“So what can you do other than pick up on others like us?” Morgana asked.

“A lot of stuff. Right now, what’s important is that I can help get you back up to full strength.” He started to reach for her, then hesitated, his graceful fingers hovering in the scant space between them. “May I?”

Her heart had started thumping faster the second she saw him move closer, not from fear but the sudden surge of desire to know what his welcomed touch would feel like. Mute, she nodded, unable to look away.

His skin was warm where he skimmed his fingertips along her forehead to her temple, then down the curve of her cheek until he reached the hollow of her throat. His eyelids dropped as he centered his attention on the square inch of fragile skin there, giving her a modicum of freedom to stare at him to her heart’s content.

Beneath the veneer he presented, his skin glowed with health, more evidence he told the truth about coming in and out of Camelot. Had he grown up there, too? What was his last name? He couldn’t be a member of the elite. She would’ve remembered someone like him. But something about Merlin commanded respect, a quiet assurance so unlike her family’s braggadocio it felt like a soft embrace.

His lips moved without making a sound. Before she could ask him what he’d said, an electric surge flooded through her flesh.

Morgana gasped. Her head tilted back in a desperate bid for air, but just as quickly as the power had coursed through her, it was gone, leaving her skin hot, the back of her neck prickling from the residual energy.

He regarded her when she finally gazed at him in awe. “Better?” he asked.

“I feel amazing.” It sounded like an understatement compared to the fresh vigor running through her. “Is it a transfer or something else?”

“I think of it as sharing.” Though he no longer touched her throat, his hand was still near, like it was too hard to withdraw. The back of his knuckles grazed across a strand of hair that had loosened from the knot to tickle down the side of her neck, and she almost leaned into it to see if he’d wind his fingers deeper. “It was the first thing I learned how to do, so it doesn’t put too much of a strain on me unless I do something major.”

“Like what?”

“Healing trauma.” Merlin grinned. “So I guess it’s a good thing she didn’t draw blood. I don’t think you would’ve let me in your hard-won home to fix it.”

Now that he’d mentioned it, Morgana glanced at the stairs. “Those don’t seem so daunting anymore.”

“Good.” He sighed and pushed away from the wall. “I should go since you’re feeling stronger.”

Panic replaced her euphoria. He couldn’t leave. He was the first person in this place who made her feel like she’d done the right thing by running from her life in Camelot. “I thought you wanted to come up.”

“Maybe next time.”

Every step he took closer to the door was a loss. “Will you be around?”

Merlin flashed her one last smile as he lingered on the threshold. “You can count on it.”

* * *

He broke into a run as soon as he was out of sight of Morgana’s building. His long legs ate up the distance toward Camelot, but when the walls came into view, he angled off the street, onto a narrow side road that led to the deserted station for the elevated train that used to connect the city center with all its outlying annexes. Nobody with power ventured this close to the border. He was alone when he reached the uppermost platform, his pulse pummeling his senses with its incessant beat.

What was he doing? He’d had the perfect opportunity to subdue Morgana. She’d been drained from the fight—he’d seen it long before she stumbled—so capturing her would’ve been simple. None of the locals would’ve stopped him from carrying her to the walls. They wanted her gone, just as much as Uther wanted her home.

And yet…when he’d witnessed how weak she’d become in the aftermath, he’d had only one thought. 

_She fought too well to go down like this._

Seizing her at that moment would’ve been wrong. She’d been weak as a kitten, and for a woman who was fire and passion and soaring spirits, it would’ve been the ultimate humiliation. After what he’d seen, Merlin couldn’t be the one to deal that blow. If he took her back to Camelot, it would be after she’d had the chance to stop him.

His lungs strangled inside his chest as he stared blindly at the horizon. _If._ He couldn’t afford an _if_. It was supposed to be _when_ he took her back. Uther had paid him for a job, after all, and continuing Merlin’s efforts with the underground without losing his public allies required funds.

But the _if_ felt like it had been inevitable now. He couldn’t deny it.

Blots against the sky caught his eye. A flock of birds flew in his direction, and on reflex he shrank into the shadows to hide. They circled the road he’d traveled, then split off, half doubling back, the rest continuing upward to settle on the ragged billboards across the street. All were black. Morgana’s cadre. They hadn’t tasted his blood, so she must have sent them after Merlin when he left.

They stared at each other for five minutes as he waited, poised, to call upon his own creatures.

Nothing happened. Apparently, they were only supposed to watch.

Well, they could do that to their heart’s content. He wasn’t going back to Camelot until he decided what to do about Morgana. In the meantime, he would keep an eye on her and hope he could come to some kind of answer about what he was going to do with her.

* * *

She spent the night thinking about Merlin.

It was more than how he made her feel, though that wasn’t something to be ignored. For a dissenter, he was eerily magnetic and his charming good will soothed her like nobody back in Camelot ever had.

No, what Morgana couldn’t let go of was the questions he raised, how easily he could go back and forth from Camelot without anyone the wiser, how well he commanded his abilities without any weakening. She hadn’t been aware that she was different until she was a teenager, when she’d wake and find objects out of place. At first, she’d thought her half-brother Arthur was to blame, but when it continued to happen when they were separated, she realized otherwise.

The first psychiatrist told her she was sleepwalking, but Morgana’s own tests, recording her room while she was asleep, proved that false. She fired him on the third session.

The second psychiatrist was convinced it was memory lapses caused from stress. The medication he prescribed made her irritable and turned her hair to grass, and things still moved around when they shouldn’t so she fired him on the fourth.

She refused to go to the third psychiatrist Uther found. By then, she’d become convinced she was the cause.

Nobody in Camelot would talk about the special abilities that separated the dissenters from the rest of the population, especially to the daughter of the most vocal opponent of them all. Everything she’d learned, she’d figured out for herself.

She knew she could communicate with birds, though only black ones ever answered her call. She knew they would use the blood of her enemies to protect her later, which would prove valuable in keeping Gypsy at bay. And she knew she could move things around, making her deadly in a battle of weapons. She’d heard of firestarters and people who could read the future, but nobody had ever suggested someone could possess more than a single ability.

Until Merlin came along.

What else could he do? What else could _she_ do? Try as she might, she couldn’t seem to summon other skills, which left her in a foul mood by the time the sun rose.

The home she’d claimed had once been a loft apartment, but time had chipped away at its allure. Water stains caused one corner of the ceiling to sag, while the carpets had been stripped to expose nails and grip strips to unsuspecting feet. The floors themselves were hardwood and excellent quality, so Morgana set to work pulling out anything that was attached to it that didn’t belong there. By noon, she had a pile of the narrow grippers and a dozen bloody scratches on her hands.

The floor was now a safe zone, though, and she sat with her back to the wall as she surveyed her space. 

Nobody interrupted her as she worked throughout the afternoon. Morgana preferred it that way. She’d fought for it, after all. But when her stomach rumbled to remind her she’d only consumed water all day, a pang of loneliness joined in. She might be used to the alienation that came from having to hide who she was, but the isolation was new. At least in Camelot, there were always voices or the TV to keep her from being solitary. Here, she couldn’t even get street noise to remind her the world hadn’t ended without her.

She came to a decision in the bath. Calling out to the birds, she asked them to find Merlin, then proceeded to use some of her better soaps that she’d brought with her to clean away the grime from her renovations. It wasn’t about impressing him—except it was, no matter how much she might want to prove to anyone who could see that they couldn’t break her. That was why she towel-dried her hair and let it hang freely, too. She hadn’t missed how Merlin had wanted to touch it when they’d been so close. 

The choice to wear a skirt that showed off her legs instead of the utilitarian trousers she’d been sporting since leaving Camelot a week ago was deliberate as well.

Her sole accommodation for practicality was a blade tucked in her tall boot. The last thing she wanted was another fight, but better ready than not.

None of the usual suspects loitered in the stairwell when she went down, though on the second story, she could’ve sworn she heard a door slam before she reached the landing. Her pulse began to accelerate in the lobby. Unable to resist, she sneaked a glance at the spot against the wall where Merlin had touched her. Heat spread out from the spot on her throat at the memory, drawing a smile as she emerged from the building.

“You should do that more often.” 

Startled, Morgana whirled to find Merlin sitting on the railing protecting the stairs that led to the basement. Weather had corroded the iron bars, and while Merlin was slim and fit, her gaze jumped to the weldings in the concrete to measure how dangerous it was.

Merlin chuckled. “It’s perfectly safe. Look.” With a weightless grace, he hopped onto the top rail and balanced on it, even though his long feet hung well over the bar. He held out his hand to her. “You try.”

“Oh, no,” she said. Then, to cover her nerves, she twisted her leg to put her heeled boot on display. “Wrong shoes.”

“Shoes aren’t how you do it.” An impish gleam appeared in his eyes. “Don’t you trust me?”

The funny thing was, she did, which had to be the only reason she abandoned all common sense and let him pull her onto the rail.

Coppery motes fluttered away from the bar as her boot scraped across it, more clinging to the sole. Morgana lurched sideways, but Merlin caught her at the waist, much like he had the day before, and helped her straighten.

“Don’t look away from my eyes,” he instructed.

She had to tilt her head up to manage that, which made her vertigo even worse. Though his arm tightened, she was more aware of the flecks that danced in his blue irises, like something alive existed within them, entirely separate from everything else that was Merlin.

“Imagine the ground,” Merlin said softly. “How it feels beneath your feet when you go without shoes. How solid it is. How it’s always there.”

His voice coaxed the sensations to the forefront of her thoughts, but… “We’re not on the ground.”

“It’s all about perspective. The ground is what you make it to be. You know that part of you that you embrace to make things move under your command? Find it now.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

“But I have to focus on—”

“I’m not asking you to use it. Just find it, Morgana. Stop treating it like a one-trick pony and start seeing it as the source of what makes you special.”

Unfamiliar emotions welled inside her, frightening her to the point where she closed her eyes to hide them away from Merlin. He was the first person to ever refer to her differences as the very thing that might make her exceptional. People extolled her name or beauty, but never anything of substance. Her gratitude he saw through the superficial was astonishing in its intensity.

“Don’t hide from me.”

And there was more proof that Merlin was unique. He called her on her faults without shaming them. She looked at him again as soon as he uttered the words and turned her attention to the task he’d given her.

It wasn’t nearly as difficult as she’d thought. Without a target to occupy her awareness, she used Merlin’s description to guide her. _The source._ She pictured it as a pond, waiting for her to sit along its banks and trail her fingers across the surface.

“That’s it,” Merlin said at the exact moment she felt the powerful draw. “Now think about the ground like I described it.”

Her muscles hummed from the unleashed power. Gently, she turned it downward, molding it with invisible hands to take the shape of the sidewalk, solid and secure.

Through it all, Merlin remained a constant, his breath surprisingly sweet where it fanned across her cheeks, the heat of his body taking the place of the dying sun to warm her flesh. Once, his gaze dropped to her mouth, and she was sure he was going to kiss her— _yes, please_ —but it never happened.

Her relaxation was so complete, she didn’t even flinch when his arm loosened from her waist and then fell away.

“Told you.” Merlin backed off, leaving her standing free. He winked. “Maybe you should trust me next time instead of telling me all the reasons you think you can’t do something.”

She laughed. Feeling bold, she did a little pirouette on the bar, exhilarated when she completed it without a wobble. “Lesson learned.”

He hopped off, but when he held out a hand for her to join him, she ignored it to jump down by herself. It was his turn to laugh. “Come on,” he said. “I’m starved.”

He took off at a long lope with Morgana hustling at his side to keep up. “Where do you live?” she asked.

“Here or in Camelot?”

“Here.” Camelot was her old life.

“Near the platforms. It’s faster to get into Camelot there.”

“You make that sound like you do that often.”

“I do.”

He stated it so blandly, her curiosity ratcheted. “Why? For supplies?”

“Sometimes.”

“What other reasons are there?”

It was the first question that made him pause. “How about I answer that after you tell me what you thought you were doing by running away,” he eventually said.

“I ran away because I don’t fit in there,” she retorted.

“And you think you fit in here?”

“Better than I did under Uther’s thumb.”

“You weren’t the only person like us in Camelot, you know.”

“But you came here, too, so that doesn’t count.”

Merlin turned off the street and led her down an alley to the ladder of a fire escape that had been pulled to the ground. He swept an arm toward it to indicate she should go first, then looked at her bare legs and grinned.

“I didn’t expect the skirt,” he said. “Going up second now seems like a selfish act rather than the gallant one I wanted it to be.”

She arched a brow and deliberately grasped the nearest rung. “I have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“No, you don’t,” she heard him murmur as she started to climb.

She almost wished she hadn’t worn panties as they ascended. At every level, she expected to stop, but Merlin prodded her farther until they were all the way at the top. Though the air was cooler than it had been on the ground, she didn’t feel it. She was stopped by the sight laid out in front of her.

Dozens of doves lined the edge of the roof, with more on the power lines overhead, the exhaust pipes, the back of a low couch angled to look out over the neighborhood. Her first thought was they were hers, directed here by her command to find Merlin, but only a few were black, scattered amongst their paler compatriots like silent exclamations.

“I hope you’re hungry.” Merlin brushed past her, oblivious to their audience, and went straight to the couch. He pulled out a backpack tucked beneath it and started emptying its contents. “I’ve got fried chicken and chips and bottled water. Oh, and biscuits for later if you want.”

Intrigued, she joined him, curling up in the corner to watch him put it on display. Her stomach growled at the aromas emanating from the paper-wrapped food. “Is that actually hot food?”

He gave her a lopsided grin. “Of course. Who wants to eat cold, soggy chips?”

She was done asking how and took the packets he handed her with gusto. Two bites later, she groaned in ecstasy.

“Who knew food could taste so good?” she said. “Where did you get this? I haven’t found anything remotely resembling a restaurant since I got here.”

“That’s because you’ve been too busy not getting killed.” He toyed with a chip. “They’re never going to stop, you know. You will always be a target for these people.”

“Our people,” she corrected. “And you’re wrong. I proved myself yesterday.”

“Do you really think they’ll ever see you as anyone but Uther Pendragon’s daughter?” Merlin shook his head. “I don’t. And if you were being completely honest with yourself, you’d see that you don’t want them to, either.”

Her face flamed. “You make that sound like you believe I’m as spoiled as they said I am.”

“I think you are used to commanding respect,” he countered. “And I think you’re going to do whatever it takes to get it, only now you want it for your abilities rather than your name.”

His on the mark assessment shut down her ready argument. “It’s still better than what it was like in Camelot.”

“What if it doesn’t have to be?”

Morgana stared at him, trying to figure out what he meant. “Uther isn’t going to back down. We’re a threat.”

“We’re not, actually, but that’s a discussion for another day.” Merlin abandoned eating and scooted closer. “You asked me why I go to Camelot so often instead of staying here. I go, because I have a life there. Family. Friends. A job.”

His careful word choice left her wary. “Doing what?”

“I find things. I’m rather good at it if I do say so myself.”

Her wariness began to turn rancid, the food tasteless on her tongue as the fears she’d had when she’d first encountered him resurfaced. “Why are you telling me this?”

He was close enough to stretch and catch a lock of her hair. She couldn’t feel it as he let it coil around his fingers, but from the heat in his gaze when he watched the dark strands curl and slip, he sure did.

“Last night, I left because you scared the hell out of me. You were nothing like I’d heard, nothing like I expected. I didn’t know what to do, and frankly, that doesn’t happen to me very often. If anything, I’m the one who acts when nobody else will. But you sent me into a tailspin, and I spent the whole day trying to decide what to do about it.” The eyes he lifted to hers begged for her to listen. “So I’m going with honesty.”

She resisted the urge to swallow the lump in her throat. _Never show weakness._ “What have you lied about?”

“I haven’t lied. I left before I had to. But the truth is, I didn’t find you yesterday by accident. I was hired to find you. By Uther.”

It was everything she feared and nothing she wanted to hear. Dropping her food like it burned, Morgana scrambled out of the couch and backed away, her instincts scrambling to protect her from the betrayal. A smattering of doves at the edge of the roof took to the air, the flutter of their wings too gentle against her bruised soul.

“I won’t let you drag me back there,” she warned. “I’ll kill you before I let that happen.”

Merlin stayed seated, seemingly still at ease if the languor of his pose was to be believed. “That’s why I told you the truth.”

“Because you’re afraid?” Contempt blazed in her accusation. “I’m such an idiot. I should’ve known better than to trust you.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Morgana, and you’re hardly an idiot. Far from it. I think you’re absolutely stunning. That’s why I helped you.”

“I didn’t need your help. I won that fight on my own.”

“Did you know you could do so much more, though? No,” he answered for her. “You would’ve wasted months, maybe even years, discovering what I showed you in the space of minutes.”

Birds screeched in the distance. They looked at the same time to see the doves blockading any attempt of a murder of crows to get to the rooftop.

“Mine will tear yours apart,” Morgana said.

“Perhaps,” he conceded. “But I didn’t bring them here just as a defense. I wanted you to see we’re not that different, you and I. Think about it. If I was only interested in getting paid, would I have made you strong enough to put up a fight when I tried to take you back?”

His logic seemed airtight, but Morgana didn’t want to believe it. “Just because we can both call birds doesn’t mean we’re the same.”

“No, our desire to be accepted for who we truly are does.” The birds’ screams grew louder, and he winced as more than a few fell out of the air in the battle. “Please call them off. Hasn’t there been enough bloodshed?”

She hated the thought of leaving herself so open to Merlin’s attacks, especially with how little she knew of his abilities. But he was right about one thing. Too much blood had been spilled. It was wearying.

“Thank you,” he said when the crows that were left flew off. “Now it’s my turn to do something for you.”

As one, the doves lifted from their perches, joining the crows in the retreat. The sole exception was a black bruiser of a bird who sat unblinking on the roof sill.

“What do you want from me?” Morgana said. “You clearly have an agenda.”

His sad smile would’ve tugged at her heart a scant few minutes ago. “I want you to go back to Camelot. I think you can do more good in the city than hiding out here, fighting for scraps from Gypsy’s table.”

“While Uther’s alive? Impossible.”

“You’re wrong about that. He’s not omnipotent, no matter how much he wants to convince everyone he is. He would never have hired me to find you if he knew the money he’s going to pay me will go to help the resistance we have in Camelot.”

 _Resistance._ In her hunt for answers about her abilities, Morgana had heard whispers of that word, but each time she sought it out, it evaporated, gone as quietly as the fog on a cold, damp day. Here was Merlin, saying it was real, that he was a part of it, and best of all, that Uther had no clue of its existence.

She took a tentative step forward. “That’s why you go back and forth.”

Merlin nodded. “For some, it’s better being outside the city. They can’t or don’t want to play the game we must if we want to avoid being discovered before we’re strong enough to win. I bring news, supplies, whatever it takes to help them. And sometimes, I take them back because they’ve learned all they need to out here.”

“What can being out here teach them?”

“About their abilities, for starters. We can train out in the open here without fear of jail.”

That had been a big draw for Morgana, too. “But you just have to hide again when you go back. What’s the point?”

“Not everyone hates us,” he said. “You’d be surprised how many havens there are where you’re encouraged to speak freely, to behave in good faith. Your whole life has been colored by Uther, so perhaps it’s hard for you to accept, but life in Camelot isn’t the desolation you’ve convinced yourself it has to be. And someone like you working for the underground? I can’t even imagine how much we could accomplish.”

He kept using _we_. It had to be deliberate, to try and manipulate her into letting her guard down, but Merlin was quietly persuasive, never raising his voice, never threatening her. The more he spoke, the more she wanted to believe him, which was as dangerous to her well-being as sending her birds away had been.

“You want to use me to get to Uther,” she accused.

“I can already get to Uther. Do you know why he hired me? Because your brother vouched for me. I consider Arthur a friend.”

“Does he know?”

“About my abilities?” Merlin shook his head. “But he’s a good man, a better one than Uther. The time will come when he’ll listen to our case and actually hear us out, rather than condemn us without review like Uther does.”

Now that would be a world to live for, because as much as she might chafe from the pretenses, she’d always seen Arthur just as Merlin did. Perhaps that spoke to his veracity, too, even if she didn’t wish to believe it.

“I meant what I said before.” Morgana lifted her chin in defiance. “You can’t drag me back.”

His mouth canted. “I _won’t_ ,” he corrected. “I’m hoping you’ll come back of your own accord.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I hope you’ll let me still see you when I’m here. There’s so much I want to show you, so much I want to see you do.” His voice grew husky. “Your potential boggles me, Morgana. I’ve never met anyone who excites me the way you do.”

The confession stole her breath. Before he’d told her the truth about his presence, she’d felt the same way, the hopes at finding a kindred spirit here in this new world fueling her resolve to stay strong. She wanted to think he meant what he said, but he had made his motivations perfectly clear. It could all be a ploy to get what he wanted from her.

 _Except he doesn’t see you as a pawn,_ a little voice said in the back of her head. _He sees you as a woman. Desirable. Valuable for more than your pretty face._

“I can’t think about this right now.” So much of the truth and yet not nearly enough of the emotions he roiled inside her. “I need to go.”

Merlin stood when she backed away. “I have to return to Camelot tomorrow and give Uther an update. If you decide to take a chance with me, I’ll be at the station platform until the sun goes down.”

No trains ran anymore, but Morgana couldn’t let herself dwell too much on how Merlin might get back and forth from Camelot without one. She had too many other details to parse, without the distraction of his gentle eyes or his knowing hands to get in the way.

Pivoting on her heel, she refrained from looking back at him as she clambered over the wall and onto the fire escape. She kept listening for the whisper of wings to follow her when she reached the ground, but none ever came.

Merlin wasn’t having her trailed. He was letting her make the decision on her own.

That made it harder.

* * *

The horizon burned with the dying sun. While the buildings below remained blind, lights began to twinkle in the distance, the citizens of Camelot warding off the night with their feeble displays of power. It was pretty, in its own cold way, but Merlin’s gaze was fixated elsewhere. He was far more interested in what might arise from the stairs that led from the street.

This might’ve been the longest day of his entire existence. At dawn, he’d risen and packed his meager belongings. Though he’d given Morgana a sunset deadline, he had to be ready for her to arrive at any time. He’d actually held onto hope that she would be there waiting for him when he showed.

But she hadn’t. And as the minutes crept by and the sun crawled across the sky, he became increasingly certain she wasn’t going to come at all.

He’d failed. Giving her an out had been a risk from the start. He knew that. She ran away for a reason—if he’d grown up in the Pendragon household knowing he would be judged as evil by those who were supposed to love him no matter what, he would’ve run away, too—and he was foolish to think that the spark between them was strong enough to sway years worth of neglect. So what if his heart leapt at the sight of her? Or that he’d lost any semblance of solid sleep because of dreams where she writhed beneath him, or, a much more provocative option, above him? Desire was superficial in the face of what she’d endured, and his base needs couldn’t compare if she decided staying away from Camelot was the best for her.

Oh, but what a travesty it would be, not to have her powerhouse drive as part of the underground movement. Even if she never actualized her abilities beyond her current skills, she could seduce disbelievers with scarcely any effort, growing their numbers until Uther and the others had no choice but to listen to them. They could command respect in short years rather than decades.

Merlin leaned against the cold wall and closed his eyes. It had been a nice fantasy while it lasted.

“You’re still here.”

Though her voice was soft, it carried on the unmoving air as easily as a spring breeze, alerting every instinct he possessed into seeking her out. He found her sitting on the top stair leading from the street, her normally pale eyes dark with untold secrets as they regarded him without blinking.

She wasn’t smiling.

So he did, even if he feared it would push her away again. “Call me an optimist.”

“Idealist seems more apt.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I’m not one.”

“Oh, but you are.” While he yearned to go to her, Merlin maintained his pose, his only acknowledgement of her presence a slight angle in his shoulder so he faced her more directly. “An idealist wouldn’t have needed to escape Camelot’s cage like you did. But you want authenticity. You crave it, no matter what the cost.”

His words didn’t hit as he hoped. Morgana stayed where she was. “You think you know me so well, don’t you?”

“Am I wrong?”

Now, finally, she seemed to give weight to what he said. “No,” she whispered. Then… “Going back feels like admitting defeat.”

“Except you’re doing it on your own terms, in control of your own life.”

“Uther won’t know that.”

He stopped himself from asking “Does he need to?” because Morgana let Uther define everything she was right now. It would take time to move her beyond that. Since she’d come to Merlin, however, maybe it wouldn’t take distance, too.

“I will,” Merlin said. “So will everyone who’s fighting Uther’s tyranny.”

When she unfolded herself away from the stair, his pulse accelerated, especially when she scooped up a pack that had been tucked behind her. The pack dangled from her hand with each slow step she advanced, but his eyes were for her, not the verification that she’d come with the intention of joining him.

He straightened away from the wall as she approached. She wore scant make-up, and shadows haunted the hollows of her face. In many ways, she barely resembled the woman he’d seen in Uther’s photos or in the lot facing off with Gypsy or even on the walk to their aborted dinner, but there was a new consciousness in how she moved and looked at him that made him forget about all those other versions. 

She’d never been more beautiful to him. 

“I want to do what you do,” she said when she stopped in front of him. “I want to move back and forth between Camelot and here. I’m not ready to give up my home here yet.”

“You won’t have to.” Because he had to touch her, he trailed his fingers down her bare arm until he reached the pack. Then, he curled their hands together until she relinquished control, allowing him to take it away and sling it over his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re doing this, though.”

The tip of her tongue appeared to moisten her dry lower lip. “What’re you going to tell my father?”

“Whatever you want me to. We have time to get our story straight.”

“And after? Do you just disappear?”

“Not if you don’t want me to.”

Her lashes dipped to his chest as she ran a nail along the coarse seam of his open collar. “Be careful. I want a lot of things from you.”

Emboldened by her words, Merlin grasped her hips and gently tugged her forward until their lower bodies molded together. Bending to her ear, he inhaled the scent of her wild hair for a moment before murmuring, “Maybe you should be careful. I don’t see that as a warning. I see it as a promise I expect you to keep.”

Lips skimmed along his neck. “Looks like we both have high expectations.”

When Morgana looped her arms around him, Merlin sank into the embrace, allowing his hold to become possessive. Around them, the world went on, oblivious to the revolutions to come in Camelot he’d always known were inevitable.

The only change he hadn’t predicted was that to his own existence.

He had a feeling Morgana would be surprising him for many years to come.


End file.
